All the Life Around
by afterdalton
Summary: Kurt becomes agoraphobic due to past trauma. He lives alone in an apartment in Columbus and hasn't left in 2 years. Blaine moves in next door and Kurt hears his beautiful voice singing through their shared wall. Kurt becomes obsessed with the mystery songbird next door and for the first time in years feels like the outside world might have something beautiful to offer him after all
1. Chapter 1

_a/n: This story was written for the Klaine Prompt Bang and does revolve around Kurt living with agoraphobia. It's an anxiety disorder that produces a lot of misconceptions. One of which is that it's a fear of being outdoors. In really simplified terms, it's an extreme discomfort and desire to avoid uncomfortable, seemingly inescapable situations - because of this, it sometimes occurs that a person will remain at home full-time as part of this avoidance since home can be a controlled environment. In this story, as prompted, Kurt hasn't left his house in years. His story is shaped by his individual experience, _and it's important to note that his experience with this disorder is not the only possible experience.__

__Warnings for mention of panic attacks, anxiety, and depression. __

__Very special thanks to my beta sightoftheshore & my artist hopelesslydevotedgleek! For a much, much better look at the gorgeous artwork you can go to my tumblr (linked in my profile) and click on the fanfiction link in the sidebar. Thank you for reading!  
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><p>It's hardly the life Kurt envisioned for himself to be leading at twenty-six, but he's safe and cozy in his careworn cocoon. Most days, it never even crosses his mind that he'd wanted more because contentment is enough.<p>

It used to be he didn't think at all on his situation – his _quirks_ – so deep into his cage he no longer saw its bars. Of course, that was before "3 West" moved in across the hall and sparked curiosity bright and hot, drawing him out like a siren's call.

A truth he's not yet willing to admit is that he's been migrating his workstations closer to where the songbird's melody drifts most clearly into the hush of Kurt's hideaway. He tiptoes around so as not to interrupt the incoming stream of music; it keeps him company while he works on any of the numerous jobs he forces upon himself in avoidance of his problems.

Today, he flits by his drafting table and considers pulling out the manuscript burning a hole at the bottom of its drawer. He's been delaying for weeks, sketching some ideas based on the few details Puck orated, but mostly ignoring the text altogether. Puck checked in only once before he dropped the subject, sensing the prickles raised upon Kurt's skin like fragile armor. Futile weaponry, but a clear warning.

It's sweet, sure. But Puck's kindness will get them nowhere and Kurt knows this. He wants to get working. Be finished already. Not panic over a task he's completed in kind no less than a hundred times over since his teens. Then again, when he was eighteen and using the stories Puck invented for his daughter's bedtime stories as inspiration for art class, there was a lot less pressure to perform.

Beth is a central figure in all of Kurt's creative success. With the trauma cast on him by small children when he was one, and the overwhelming lack of social interactions by the time he hit freshman year, loving Beth came as a surprise. Even knowing her was unexpected.

She was tiny, pink, and otherwise generally indistinguishable from any other baby when he first saw her. She belonged to a pair of teenaged parents who had no clue what to do with her and grandparents unwilling to do the work for them. He saw the bags under Quinn's eyes and the sluggish gait Puck had permanently adopted. Though he questioned his own sanity at approaching them, forever the Queen Bee and the Football King in stance if not status, he offered to help. What started as a glare softened into something almost vulnerable when Quinn quietly accepted whatever generosity he had to spare.

And so it was that Kurt babysat in the afternoons when Quinn and Puck were either working or needing some time off. It was in her company, as she grew, that Kurt found himself channeling all of his artistic energies in order to keep Beth entertained. By the time she was two and he was eighteen, Beth had a rather large collection of Kurt Hummel originals, ranging from teddy bears and perfectly tailored clothing, much of which she grew out of too quickly, to the bedspread and pillows adorning her mattress and the paintings on her walls. Next came the silly, handcrafted books Kurt and Puck began pulling together when Quinn insisted Beth would tolerate nothing less before bed than the wild tales of Jackie Daniels, the sword-wielding zombie princess destroying the world one human at a time.

Eventually, the untouched inaugural manuscript for a new series is calls out for his attention.

He takes the stack of neatly bound pages from their tiny resting place, curls up in the armchair he'd moved to be closer to the music flowing in from 3 West, and begins to fulfill his promise to _at least try._

Three hours later, Kurt has read the story twice and gone back to the mindless busywork of completing web orders for his online shop. The music that had been coming from his neighbor's place has faded into silence, and the loudness of his thoughts has risen in its absence.

He's not yet sure if he's touched or offended by what he's just read. Puck has formal training in literature, has earned a degree that implies a certain level of competency with the English language, and he's garnered some healthy attention for his creativity. Yet, he's presented Kurt with a bastardized retelling of Kurt's own life by way of Kieron, a _fairy_ whose story starts when he's captured by inquisitive children and kept as a pet, poked and prodded at until his wings have lost their use – a story no more tame in the particulars than any of Puck's other work, but utterly lacking in subtlety.

Though Kieron doesn't hide away from his troubles, so what does that say?

There's a loud knock at the door, heavy in the way Puck pounds his fist, but in a spirited succession he's not likely to use. Kurt picks up his phone. No messages, no calls, no nothing. Kurt crosses the floor as quietly as he can until he's pressing his nose up against the wooden barrier guarding his fortress. Looking out, excitement bubbles up briefly before anxiety forces it down.

The knocking resumes, startling Kurt from his inner battle of _should I or shouldn't I? _He shouldn't, he figures. But he does.

"Hi. Whoa. Um, wow. Hi, neighbor." Kurt goes tense at the words bursting forth from 3 West's mouth and the burning trail his eyes leave as he quickly rakes them over Kurt's body "This was left for you downstairs. It's big. I thought maybe it's important. And even if it's not, you probably want it anyway since it's yours," he rambles. He looks away when he smiles, and then his (unfairly attractive) eyes bounce back to Kurt. In his hands is a cardboard box about the size of the absolutely unimportant table lamp he ordered days earlier.

Their hands brush when transferring the box from one to the other and Kurt's chest seizes at the contact. Not the heart-stopping clutch of attraction, but the familiar panic he's not yet mastered the art of controlling.

"Thank you," he manages. Each breath comes in shorter than the last, though he does his best to mask it.

"Anytime." A pause. "Kurt." A smile.

Kurt's surprise must show as his neighbor glances at the package's mailing slip and his lips quirk up into a reassuring smile. Kurt's mouth drops into a small "o" as he nods a bit, eyes slipping closed as he pleads with his body to calm.

"Who's this?" 3 West yelps excitedly, dropping quickly into a crouch at the sight of Lady, the furball of a cat named by and belonging to Beth, but taking up temporary residence in Kurt's apartment until the Puckermans return from vacation.

Lady curls her tail around Kurt's leg as she brushes past him on her way to the stranger crowding the doorway. The box resting awkwardly in Kurt's arms gets set on the first clear surface he sees, taking a step back into his apartment.

As the door swings open a bit wider with the push from his shoulder, Kurt gives his neighbor a clear shot into his apartment.

Furniture is sparse to keep clutter at bay, so there's a lot of floor space. But all Kurt's really done is turned it into something like a playroom for his creativity.

"Holy shit," the man gawks, eyes dancing from one corner of the loft to the other. The landlord – a friend of his father's – gave Kurt free reign to decorate as he saw fit; there's not much left untouched by this point. The walls are opportunities to experiment. All of it is, really. Kurt's personal favorite piece seems to be his neighbor's as well.

When Kurt first moved in, the grit and grime look of partially exposed brick suited his mood, suited his temper, and suited his outlook on life. He painted over flaking and cracked plaster in angry, harsh angles with the blackest paints his father could find. He shoved his fists into buckets and flung the liquid, not caring where it landed. He lived for months in the darkness he created before its comfort grew cold. With eyes open on the horror of paint-splattered floors and furniture, of the ugly mess he'd made his home, he threw himself into renovations.

Keeping busy keeps him sane. Well, as sane as he can manage.

Kurt scraped away the loose plaster beneath his patchy paint job, filled in the gaps, and sanded the roughness until his hand ran smooth across the surface. After a long process of starts and stops, he'd given himself a new canvas.

In fractured pieces, he resumed making art. And in fractured pieces, he started to heal, started pasting his pieces back together. Started but never finished. Always, it feels like the glue is still drying.

The previous resident of 3 West made little more noise than Kurt but certainly not as much as the current tenant. She was kind mostly, the elderly woman named Violet, the first real friend Kurt had made on his own in years. She asked about his art and somehow tricked him into blathering for hours about brushstrokes one day and beading the next.

He misses Violet, wishes he could turn a switch in his head and not lose breath at irrational fears. She's not very far away, living with her son now, but he can't go visit. It's exhausting even to think about it.

But he can't not think about it.

Between two of his large east-facing windows, on the large expanse of plaster caught between exposed brick, is a watercolor-imitation mural of the woman.

The stranger's eyes are glued to the portrait. Something in the look of wonderment nearly puts Kurt at ease for a fleeting moment. He shuffles his feet, counting the seconds until the experience is over. Lady is content, at least, and Kurt figures he can survive until 3 West is ready to go if even this cat can tolerate strangers better than him.

"That's so cool, man," 3 West comments, standing up after what can't have been more than a few seconds, but Kurt's heart is pounding away quietly so he's sure to look crazy, and it feels like hours. "Did you paint it?"

Words are formed in his mind, complete sentences even – all of which tend to trip up on his thick tongue, so he simply nods.

"Are you working on something now?"

_Yes,_ Kurt thinks. _About a million different things,_ he almost says. His mind buzzes with all the projects he's taken on in order to distract himself. He thinks this stranger might smile brighter if Kurt tells him he restores teddy bears on occasion. Or that he designs custom superhero costumes for children. Or that in art school he tried his hand at pottery but it never worked out because he hadn't found his Patrick Swayze. He thinks it might be nice to flirt a little. It might be nice to test the waters. To dive in or just splash around. But it's too late to joke, he tells himself, biting his lip in a signature move. And now he doesn't know what to say.

Kurt's right shoulder lifts feebly, though he was aiming for a full shrug. His body is too rigid, too locked up in the tantrum his nerves are throwing. Tears spring to his eyes because it shouldn't be so hard just to get the words out. He blinks them back before 3 West looks up again, but the man must catch something in Kurt's expression nonetheless. His neighbor's amiable smile shifts into a polite one and Kurt knows he's made it awkward. He tries to smile back, but what little false confidence he's mustered is fading.

"Thank you," he blurts, half-hiding behind his door and more than ready to close it. "For, uh, for the delivery. Um, yeah. Just thanks."

"No problem."

3 West is petting Lady her farewell, then he's backing away and turning toward his own apartment. Kurt is cherry red and on the verge of a full-blown panic attack before his door is even closed, just thinking about how cringe-worthy he is as company. Then Lady's new friend cuts through Kurt's trembling and his building anxiety.

"I'm Blaine, by the way. If you ever want to forget your manners and barge in over here, that's totally cool. Welcome even." Blaine winks, then sobers. "And I would totally deserve it. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"I'm fine," Kurt lies. "You didn't…" the words trail off with a twitchy shake of the head. Blaine smiles knowingly and Kurt shuts the door with a grimace.

At least his short list of lifestyle perks has gotten a little longer because the upside of never leaving is he'll never have to embarrass himself in front of Blaine again.


	2. Chapter 2

Blaine has been running through the same six songs for the past three hours. One bleeds into the next, and Kurt's now heard them enough times, he might have them just as well-memorized as Blaine does. If not better.

He'd be sick of it, but he likes Blaine's music. It's more Top 40 than he usually leans toward, but it's catchy and playful without pandering to the lowest common denominator. Whenever he hears changes in the lyrics over the days and weeks and months that Blaine has played original songs in the midst of Disney classics and an array of pop songs, he's proud for Blaine's progress in a way that he can't reasonably explain, especially considering he knows little else about the man.

He'd figured Blaine was a musician long ago, around the time he realized the absence of fresh melodies left the loft hollow and daunting. The questions of where Blaine goes and what he does, of who he is, recur frequently whenever the music has stopped. It's easy enough to forget they live in Columbus when he never leaves his apartment, and sometimes Kurt pictures himself back in New York, running into a smiling stranger on the street, and carrying on an easy conversation like there's a direct line from his brain to his mouth.

But there is no direct line; there's a circus of channels short-circuiting sentences that fizzle and pop into stutters as they reach his lips.

His life isn't in New York anymore. His life is here, in the cage keeping him safe and, he realizes now with startling clarity, keeping him lonely.

Blaine plays and Kurt tries to focus on drafting illustrations for Puck's story. It doesn't come easy; he feels too out of practice to produce the results that used to come naturally. Still, he puts his pencil to paper and hopes the tangle of lines will soon take shape.

It's not long before Kurt gets lost imagining himself somewhere else. This time, he's across the hall, curled up in an armchair most certainly chosen for comfort over aesthetic value, making art while Blaine makes music.

Sometimes fantasies grow strong enough to sidetrack his from his work, but they never last; always he circles back to the truth of his one and only meeting with the man from 3 West. Back to his racing pulse and unsteady breathing. To suffocating on social interaction. To the frustrated tears he choked back even in the privacy of solitude. To the recurring panic that rises when he imagines the reality of being alone with Blaine again. Of losing the interest that had sparkled in Blaine's eyes once he really gets to know Kurt.

Blaine's not very intimidating, Kurt knows. Well, he _assumes_, since it's hard to fear a gracious neighbor who is obsessed with Katy Perry and kind to small animals. But Kurt's mind has a way of warping even the simplest logic if he gives it the opportunity. With Blaine's voice the only thing keeping him company most days, it's been impossible not to build up an image of Blaine resting on a pedestal.

Blaine's cute. From what he can tell of their only interaction, Blaine is interested in men however he goes about labeling that interest. He's confident and energetic but soft-spoken. Blaine is nothing Kurt knows how to handle and it's frightening how badly Kurt wants to become an expert.

During the four months before they met, Kurt's mind was a lot nicer when it came to Blaine. Back when Blaine didn't have a name. He was an idea, an image to manipulate at will.

The day 3 West welcomed its new occupant, Kurt wasn't sure at first how many of the crowd that called his attention outside were there to help and how many were there to stay. He stood by the window watching the chatty group sleepily shuffle around one another, unloading box after box from their various cars, waking up as they went. In the grey of a rainy spring morning, joy of camaraderie lit up the block. Kurt's heart ached for that abandon.

In the center of it all, Kurt found himself tracking the movements of who he now knows was Blaine. Blaine with his unkempt hair, wearing a ragged old hoodie and thick-rimmed glasses, toting around one guitar on his back and another in his hand, stole all his attention. Without a second thought, Kurt had grabbed a nearby sketchbook – one of hundreds piled across his apartment – and flipped through for a blank page.

Fingers itching to create built leaden shrines to loose curls and smiling eyes.

Blaine's a performer, that's clear enough from the private shows played to Kurt's hidden audience, and Kurt could see his uncanny ability to pull focus from day one. He saw the way Blaine's motley crew assembled around him. He saw the relaxed posture of a man comfortable in his own skin, witnessed the reactions of others to his playful charm, and grew jealous of the carefree touches of his nomadic hands.

Self-possession is a born talent of Blaine's, as far as Kurt can tell. His fearlessness to be seen and heard is a far cry from Kurt's cowardice as a shut-in. It's a dark thought that comes too easily and too often, but dwelling on the differences between himself and Blaine leads Kurt down paths he's left purposely untrodden for years. He keeps the shadowy thoughts at bay by piling his plate high with responsibilities, even as it cracks under the pressure.

To the tune of Blaine's billionth rehearsal, Kurt finally loses himself in crafting his concepts on canvas with the aid of fresh notes from Puck and the fear his art director will hunt him down if he doesn't send in work sometime soon.

It's not exciting in the same way it was once. It feels like a job more than ever, more formal than shooting the shit with Puck, catching what lands, and calling it art. Of course, it was never that simple, but it felt that way, and now it doesn't.

At least it's not the same as New York, when he'd been alone in a city that swallowed him whole and drowned him in its belly. Puck is nearby now, as are Beth and Quinn. As is his dad.

It's been a long time since New York. Columbus moves a little slower, not that he sees much of it, and he almost misses the hustle and bustle sometimes. The constant option of stimulation, the museums, the theater, even just the multitude of 24-hour restaurants and corner stores. If not for the crowds necessitating such ease of access, New York would be Kurt's wonderland. But as with many things in Kurt's life, the fantasy far surpasses the reality.

He couldn't hack it in New York, and he's got no desire to try again just to fail again.

Still, he wonders.

Maybe he could have been someone different if life had been less unkind. Someone stronger. Or maybe it's always been his lot in life to be lonely. Maybe he holds on too tightly to the unpleasant things, to the feelings and memories that leave him quaking.

Maybe he's damaged and that's all he was ever meant to be.

He recognizes the signs of an oncoming wave of depression before it hits. There's not much he can do about it. It's crushing in its weight, the heaviness of all his sad moments coming together to ram down any happiness he's built up since the last bout. The thought of testing out therapy again crosses his mind, but his mind is also telling him he's no better than he's ever been, so what's the point if nothing has changed? It didn't work before. The last two years spent in virtual isolation is proof enough of that.

In part, at least, it's this story driving him mad. It's Kieron and his plucky can-do, if also a tad rough, attitude in the face of seemingly insurmountable adversity. He loses his wings, mourns their loss, and holds onto that feeling so he can fight to never feel it fresh. Kieron is resilient and yet Kurt sees himself in the character. Is that how Puck sees him or it is just how Kurt wants to see himself? _Am I just reading too far into this?_

There were times when Kurt could gather his strength and push past the blazing jolt of his heart slamming against his ribcage. Times when he wanted to be strong. He doesn't feel that urge so sharply anymore, doesn't wish in anything more than fleeting thoughts for his feet not to falter when the shadows say no. Life outside these walls is for those willing and able to face it. Kurt resents his lack of resilience, but that fiery hatred fueling his dark thoughts can't begin to compare to the comforting warmth of a controlled environment.

Puck can wait. At least, for a little while.

Kurt pushes himself back from the desk and leaves behind the pages of scribbles.

Humming along to music in his head, too far away to hear Blaine in the kitchen, Kurt throws all his focus into preparing lunch. Recipes, steps laid out is clear order, the uncomplicated calm of following directions helps bring the firestorm in his veins down to a simmer.

He eats, he cleans up, and he gets back to work. If staring at his own hands and fruitlessly willing them to move can be called work, that is.

This is what's meant to be his area of expertise and he feels like a novice. He's uninspired, beaten down by his own insecurities because what if he tries and it's no good? What if it's all been no good? If he tells Puck he can't do this, how soon will he have to face that he's replaceable? And what comes of the next project – will Puck even come to him first or bypass him altogether?

Creation, offering something beautiful to the world that he hides himself from is the only way he feels a part of it, sometimes. But does he want to be a part of it? The world that provokes an indefinable fear that closes him off, that cages him, drenches his skin and bones, and leaves him feeling sick with it. Because yes, he does. And he can't; just the thought turns him inside out.

It always happens so quickly, these spells of sadness. Of the overwhelming urge to lose himself in darkness again, to tear down his curtains and paint the windows black. To set fire to the half-drawn images that remind him he's a failure. To destroy all of his efforts at healing and hope that maybe he can start over again some other time. To give up. To give into his weaknesses, let them own him.

The fear of becoming weaker rivals his fear of being courageous.

He's stuck, and it's maddening to consider all the ways his life won't change if he's stays on this very clearly laid track. He wants to go to Beth's birthday parties, visit his dad, visit his _mother_ and lay flowers by her grave, wants more than Puck's word that the bagels he brings are from the best shop in the neighborhood – wants to see for himself. He wants to go jogging, go shopping, go find out where Blaine takes his songs when he's not playing them for Kurt.

He wants more. And it's terrifying. So he busies himself with his boring crafts, with his regimented designs for jewelry and scarves and home décor, with toys and costumes and tiaras. He works until he's falling out of his chair, and then drags himself up and over to his bed, though he tosses and turns in a fitful sleep.

When he wakes in the morning, the sick feeling has passed, oozed back in to the nasty place it came from. Blaine is singing along to the radio, it sounds like, and Kurt borrows some of Blaine's cheeriness to combat the shadows still lurking.

Kurt doesn't want any more days like the one before. If he can't have the life he wants, he can at least try taking joy where he can find it in the life he has.


	3. Chapter 3

Sticky heat sits among the pitfalls of summer for a man who has enough trouble sleeping. The rise in temperature leaves the air in the loft heavy and stale, and the heat blankets Kurt uncomfortably. His limbs are heavy with fatigue, but he can't turn off his mind with the flick of a light switch. It's been a busy few weeks of struggling between trying to bury his problems and confronting them.

Night after night, he gets less sleep than the one before.

Keeping odd hours is commonplace for Kurt. Time is mostly irrelevant. He's woken to the loft brightening with fresh sunshine and drifted into slumber at the same sight. It comes in phases.

Tonight, he begs for sleep. Tossing and turning only makes the room seem hotter, so he flips his pillow for a taste of coldness and forces himself to settle.

Well, he tries.

Soon the restlessness creeps back into his body. He flops onto his back and stares up. The ceiling fan pushes around the hot air, only reminding him at every warm puff pressing into his body that yes, he is trapped in what's presumably a hell pit.

Except he's not – trapped, that is. Not really.

Past the panels that block out the sky is a rooftop garden. On occasion, he pops up there to fill his lungs with fresh air and to clear his head. These occasions are extremely rare, coming only ever when the moon is high and the world is quiet. They require so much forethought; the volleying of _yes _and _no _tends to prolong his decision-making until sunrise and the din of activity decide for him.

Impulsive is a trait that doesn't rank in the list of terms that describe him. Instead it sits heavy at the base of his spine, an anchor dropped on dry land so Kurt can get his toes wet without any threat of losing himself to the current. Tonight, he's feeling light. He's feeling brave.

Or maybe it's exhaustion. Maybe he's past the point of caring, buried this far under his frustration. Frustration for his lack of sleep, but also a niggling frustration that's been clawing its way forward from the back of his mind that he can't pin down to explain. Echoes of the feeling creep up on him like long-forgotten memories triggered by a color, or a scent, or a sound, and send shivers racing along his skin.

Whatever it is, it's screaming _let me out! _And there's no hesitation as he rolls to his feet. He pulls a rumpled sheet from the chair at his bedside, a sketchbook from atop his dresser, and a pencil from the canister loaded with them on a table by his front door. He takes his rarely-used keys resting on a hook beside the door, and holds them tight, lets them dig into his palms to keep them from jingling. He takes no chance on them giving him away, though it's 3 AM and unlikely he'll be caught. Even if he were, he'd be in no trouble but it feels like a cheat to the game he's been playing for so long. He feels like a naughty child, like the last twenty years of his life have been shaved off in the time between now and when he crept out of bed.

With his book and his blanket, and the pencil tucked behind his ear, he feels sharply that smallness. But also bold, adventurous. The fog that drifts over his thoughts lifts and fades and his suddenly courageous heart beams: his guiding light in the night's darkness.

Anxiety thrums at the fringes of his mind, but his concentration remains on putting one foot in front of the other. The stairs creak under his weight and the sound bounces through the empty hallway.

_One foot. Then the next_.

The door gives way with a little extra nudge. Outside, the air is leagues less stifling. The screaming in his veins has relaxed into a soft purr. The air is so light he feels dizzy with it. He thinks of barricading the door, of letting this instead be his hideaway.

There are lights along the wall, not bright enough to truly illuminate, but they chase away enough darkness for Kurt to find his way without tripping or knocking anything over.

He did it.

A small victory is a victory all the same. This feels like one.

He sits in a lounge chair, his legs spread out before him, boggled by how this short trip has cleared his mind. In trying not to think about his growing boredom, it's become a constant presence. One he ignores, of course. But not always. And the more often he does, the less it hurts.

Being out on this roof without any reminders of his obligations is freeing. For a few minutes, he feels relief. He hadn't known how tense he'd been, how much stress he's been creating and carrying around. Fresh air fills his lungs and he wants more of this so badly, wants to breathe so easily all the time.

This tiny escape, this tiny taste of the outdoors, feels so good; all he can wonder is what has kept him so afraid.

He knows the murky fear will come back once the sun is up and he's not alone, but it's nice just to have this: a feeling like he _could_ have that elusive "more" he dreams about.

He chases the feeling, comes back to the roof periodically, until his trips become frequent and then nightly. He keeps these nights to himself, a private indulgence he fears will lose its power if he confesses. Nighttime recharges him. Whenever he sneaks back downstairs and crawls into bed, sleep swiftly overtakes him. When he rises, he's ready to work steadily through the day and sometimes he forsakes work altogether. Sometimes he can tolerate himself and his mind stays quiet while he watches movies or reads until his vision blurs. It feels like the glue is finally drying.

:: ::

Beth is nearly ten now, she can keep a secret if she's interested enough to do so. She's the only one Kurt tells about his rooftop excursions.

Beth stays over sometimes, for an afternoon or a night or a weekend. Kurt likes giving Quinn and Puck time to themselves, and loves spending time with Beth. She has her mother's eyes and tenacity, her father's dark hair and his colorful language. She grows fast. Every time Kurt sees her, she's taken on new traits or developed them more strongly. It intrigues him to see all the ways Beth is unfinished, and yet, blissful in figuring it out.

Kurt recognizes more acutely every day the twinges of stagnation. Beth's growing up, always changing in both subtle and overt ways, carving out her place in the world at large. He longs for that uniquely childlike freedom of finding out who you are without the baggage of having been someone else.

On the roof, he doesn't worry as much. Especially with Beth there beside him, yammering on about her parents and her friends, showing him silly websites on her phone. She's a better distraction from himself than Kurt could ever hope to create. A happier one.

Beth doesn't object when Kurt starts sketching her, sitting cross-legged and staring down into her phone. She only pulls a face. _Not again_, she must be thinking, but then she's smiling his way.

He sketches quickly, a picture drawn almost whole before he hears her yawn. It's late, not as late as he usually takes these trips, but late for Beth, he's sure. When he suggests leaving though, she shakes her head vigorously and pleads, "Not yet."

So they stay. Beth asks to see what Kurt has drawn, looks it over, then asks for his pencil, claiming it's her turn.

Kurt curls up on his seat, facing her and the row of plants behind her. She talks while she draws, looking up at the stars and then telling Kurt about the upcoming school year and how having to go back-to-school shopping with her dad is _"total bullshit because he wants me to dress like some whacked toddler like I'm not practically a teenager. Like, hello! I'm in double digits now. He even showed me a picture of this girl you guys went to high school with and tried to sell me on – get this – animal_._ Sweaters. Like, uh… no. Vomit."_

She rambles on and Kurt rests his eyes and falls asleep to the sound. He's woken by Beth roughly jostling his arm, delicacy no doubt passed on by Puck.

Kurt's never fallen asleep out here, never been fully at ease with the risk of being caught. He shakes away the sleep threatening to take him back under and leads them both down to his apartment, apologizing all the while though Beth isn't bothered.

:: ::

It takes until the next afternoon, a growing pile of finished drafts into a morning burst of inspiration, before Kurt thinks of the sketchbook he'd brought upstairs and doesn't remember carrying back. He asks Beth and her oops-face is all he gets before she holds up a finger and skips out the door to go grab it. Envious of her lack of hesitation, he turns back to his work. His own hesitation is waning; he's eager to bring Kieron to life and get out of his own head.

The trouble is this: the cruel children in Kieron's life easily remind him of the very real kids who mocked him. They teased him for his voice until he supposed it best to use it as little as possible, laying the groundwork for a lifetime of humbling his whims for the sake of survival. Moments remain from ages ago that sting enough to keep him cowering. They're the bricks and shadows that block out the light. On good days, he can ignore the slimy feeling lapping at his toes and smile without trying. Good days seem like rarities when he considers his life, but they keep him from going under, and he wants more of them. He's even starting to feel like he deserves them.

He'll finish these drafts, he resolves, suddenly filled with determination to prove he deserves better days. To prove he can handle better days when they come, so maybe they'll come more often.

It seems simple, but the light has never let in for long. There's always something to make him step backward and seek comfort in the shadows. Something always holds him there long enough for the holes through which light shines to patch themselves up before he's ready to try again, to stretch the struggle and make it trickier.

He doesn't need his voice in art; it speaks for him. This last year especially has been an exercise in unbinding his tongue.

Pencil to paper, the postponed pieces finally come together. Puck will be so pleased.

Beth comes back, breaking his concentration. She's empty-handed, huffing and puffing like she's just run a mile, and there's an all-too-impish grin on her face.

"Guess what," she commands.

Kurt squints in curiosity. "What?"

Beth's eyes go wide like her growing smile as she claps her hands together. Her excitement has her taking heavy breaths every three words, but when Kurt strings it all together what he gets is that Beth ran into his neighbor – _"he said his name is Blaine. Oh my god, Kurt, he is so hot. And totally g-a-y gay because his friend Tina was there and I asked if they were… you know… and, like, she totally laughed and so did he. Oh my god, his laughter is life. And, like, yeah. Confirmed gay. Like you. So you should… well… you should be boyfriends and stuff."_

Kurt buries his face in his hands, unable to keep the laughter down even as Beth goes on with her story. The laughter dies a horrible, tragic death, choked off at the back of his throat when he tunes back in at Beth saying "He obviously likes you, too. When I invited him over, he was all 'are you sure?' but, like, he was _not_ going to say no. And he didn't."

"I'm sorry. What did you just say?"

Beth smirks, equal parts Quinn and Puck in the curl of her lips. "I, like, got you a date." She shrugs. "Kind of, anyway. You're welcome."

"Oh yes. Thank you so much."

There's a knock at the door and Beth happily pulls it open. "Oh look, it's Blaine! What a surprise to see you…" She turns back to wink at Kurt. Kurt turns bright red as he looks from her to Blaine. Beth drags Blaine across the threshold and Kurt drags his feet to meet the pair. _"Kurt."_ Beth looks pointedly from Kurt to Blaine, eyes wide and head tilting toward Blaine in spastic nods meant to seem subtle. "Say hello to Blaine."

Blaine's smile is barely containing the laughter he's trying to hide, and Kurt's teeth dig into his own grinning lips. "Hello, Blaine."

Beth removes her hand from Blaine's elbow. "Don't mind me," she says, backing away quickly to the other end of the loft.

Blaine's hands are behind his back and Kurt bites his lip at the cute gesture of Blaine rocking on his toes. Then Blaine stops rocking and he bring his hands around front. In them is Kurt's sketchbook. Kurt takes the book, aching at the lack of contact when their fingers don't brush as they had once before. "Consider me your own personal delivery man," Blaine jokes. And then winks. _What the hell is that supposed to mean? Is he flirting? Should I flirt?_

Kurt looks anywhere but at Blaine, a tiny, insecure laugh escaping against his will. "Thank you. For this. Thanks." His heartbeat starts to pick up with his flailing confidence. "Um… sorry about Beth. She's… I'm sorry."

Blaine waves him off. "Don't be. She's cute." Beth giggles from wherever she's eavesdropping, and Blaine winks at Kurt again when Kurt finds the courage to look up. "You're cute, too."

Kurt recognizes the sounds of Beth's happy clapping hands, and scrunches up his face in resignation because yes, this is actually happening right now. He laughs again, overloaded with an internal lightness making his belly feel filled with bubbles and floating him up to rest atop his walls. He rests in this precarious place where he could easily tip over and crash land on either side, be immobilized in his humiliation. But Kurt's been learning to embrace the thrill of taking risks.

"Thanks," Kurt ultimately says, quiet and sincere. He bites again at his lips, a question on his tongue he's not sure he should ask. "Uh…" He lowers his voice to a whisper. "Did she say anything awful? Because she's… _verbose_, and… I, uh…"

Blaine rests a hand on Kurt's arm and shakes his head. "Not at all." He matches Kurt's whisper, adding, "If anything, she made me sound awful. I had no idea you could hear me playing through the wall."

Maybe it's his loneliness combined with this successful run at a second chance he seems to be having, but a little bit of courage drips onto his tongue and he's complimenting Blaine unprompted before he can stop himself.

"No, it's – it's okay. You sound amazing. Your voice is… it's, uh, you sound amazing. You're really talented."

Blaine pulls his hand from Kurt's arm, a move Kurt would rather he didn't make. "That's sweet. Compliment appreciated, really." Blaine turns, eyes jumping around the loft like he'd been withholding himself permission to take it all in. "But if we're talking talent, Kurt, this is just incredible. I mean, wow." His eyes land on a thoroughly stupefied Kurt. "This feels like a museum."

"He doesn't just draw and stuff," Beth informs Blaine, coming up beside Kurt. "Check me out." She strikes a pose, dressed like a superhero. Kurt rolls his eyes and demands she take off his customer's clothes, so Beth rolls her eyes and marches off. Blaine however looks somehow more impressed, watching Beth's cape drift as she goes.

"How do I get one of those?" Kurt raises an eyebrow. "Oh, I'm not kidding at all. I totally want like eight of those. One for every day of the week, and another just in case."

"You, uh… you just might be my number one fan."

"Definitely. I've got plans to start a club and everything."

Beth reappears then. "Did I miss anything good?" It's an attempt at whispering, but Blaine's too close for any attempt to matter, and he's smiling a little cheekily when Kurt looks his way.

"No, darling Beth, but I do have to go since I left my best friend roasting alone on the rooftop."

Beth stops Blaine by the door, pulling him down so she can whisper in his ear. This whispering is far more successful than her last crack at it, and Kurt strains to hear her, then shivers at the assortment of embarrassing things she could come up with and shivers again at the wink Blaine sends him when he catches Kurt spying. _Maybe it's a tick,_ Kurt thinks.

Blaine slips something into his pocket, then leaves with a wave. "See you later, neighbor."

Kurt tries begging and bribery to find out what she said to Blaine, but she's invested in keeping her secret. When Blaine shows up the next day, starting a trend of meeting in Kurt's doorway for chats that grow longer as time goes on, he returns the pencil hastily nabbed and thrust in his hand by Beth the Budding Schemer.

Before long, Kurt finds himself pulling fantasy Blaine down from his pedestal and replacing him with the real thing.


	4. Chapter 4

Maybe it's because Kurt begun to trust that Blaine is no longer a variable but a constant that he has to go back and question if he's done his math correctly.

In the weeks that have turned into months – sweet, slow-burning, blistering months that warm him up as the weather grows cold – Blaine's been breaking down Kurt's walls with the all the delicacy of a sledgehammer to a house of cards. Kurt's mind demands he deny the loose flowing warmth blooming inside him to roam freely along lax limbs. It demands he resist the urge to put faith in the feeling, to accept it without first checking for a list of attached conditions.

Blaine comes over on Tuesdays and Thursdays, free days that he chooses to spend with Kurt. He comes, and he picks at the cracks in Kurt's faulty foundation. A voice so soft it should have the same effect as fists banging on soundproof glass, but instead, a whisper from Blaine and it shatters completely, the shards imbedding themselves in Kurt's careful projections and rendering them useless. Blaine comes and he sees Kurt. The caged Kurt hunched and whimpering, finding now what it is to stand, how it feels to scream. Blaine comes and offers Kurt kindness in exchange for nothing, and Kurt thinks he may be remembering pieces of himself he's long-abandoned.

Blaine mentions his recent discovery of a kitschy, hole-in-the-wall coffee shop whose coffee is somehow the finest he's ever tasted and the place's name triggers old memories of Kurt's college days, of endless exploration and quests for caffeine. Kurt's hands tingle with the urge to emphasize his excitement, distant muscle memory not so far away as it was minutes before. Blaine winks, cheeky punctuation on a terrible pun, and something low in Kurt's belly fiddles with strings he'd deemed broken for their lack of use; Kurt feels sparks of desire that cradle lust, a forgotten feeling reborn and flourishing fast from its infancy.

Blaine hums along to melodies that play in his head. He dances, tiny motions from hips unaware of their rhythmic swaying. Music extends itself from Blaine and leads Kurt wanting to join that world so alive and inviting.

Blaine is good at neutral topics and better at using them to draw out pieces of Kurt that even Kurt forgets exist, at starting with _"Have you heard Queen Bey's new album yet?" _and getting Kurt to spontaneously admit that he learned the "Single Ladies" choreography, alone in his bedroom when he was sixteen.

Blaine puts Kurt at ease, and that alone unsettles him. He feels raw and exposed and tender under Blaine's gaze, feels his own inward gaze like a spider across the room has every tingle under skin feeling like they're crawling all over. His whole body is waking up to the discomfort of his trappings.

Kurt knows by now that Blaine has clued in to the severity of Kurt's lifestyle, but he looks at Kurt like his flaws don't matter, like they can't scare him away. He waits patiently for Kurt to break out of his nervous stuttering, passes on his calm acceptance while Kurt takes a breath and untangles the words that sat jumbled on his tongue. He braves the silences Kurt can't control, fills them with rambled tales and jokes and things Kurt just has to see, music he just has to hear_._ He puts a smile on Kurt face and leaves him with it, saying goodbye and promising later. He waits on the other side of an unanswered door, knocking once more and then giving up, but not before telling Kurt he'll come back the next day and adding, _"If you're up for it," _free of judgment.

It's nice. Kurt feels cared for and wanted in that way he can't get from Puck and Quinn and Beth and his dad. Though they'd all do the same – have done the same – he doesn't want to thank them the same way: with whispers from barely parted lips and kisses that follow.

Kurt's not in love with any of them. He's in love with Blaine.

But Kurt's mind, riddled with doubt, can't comprehend how Blaine seems to love him in return.

The question stews while Kurt bundles up in thick sweaters and warm scarves, learning new crafts to fill his new abundance of free time. It presses forward from the back of his mind, unwilling to be ignored in the hours Kurt spends scrolling through websites for news and music and celebrity gossip and all the rest he wants to be on par with Blaine about, reacquainting himself with the speed at which the world moves. It's dizzying, so he breaks it up with tiny tasks, with reading a few chapters of a favorite book, watching Netflix, or adding to the art that litters his walls.

Knitting helps best, he's found. His hands have taken to it like old habit. He knits hats and mittens until he gets the hang of it, then advances to replicating designs he finds online, until he graduates to experimenting with his own ideas – things that keep him up all hours because this has become his new obsession. When Kurt knits, he enjoys the blissful quiet of his own mind. He turns on the radio, keeps it low, and thinks of little but the needle and fabric as he hums along to the music.

In the months since school has been in session, Blaine hasn't been around as often to lend his music as company. Blaine's ideal is to make it as a performer. He plays in bars downtown, he's even extended Kurt an open invitation to any show if ever Kurt feels so inclined. In the meantime, Blaine teaches part-time at his old high school. He downplays the whole thing, but it's a big deal. The school is nothing less than grandiose, from what Kurt's seen of his internet snooping. A private school set off the beaten track and populated by smart boys in smart blazers. Blaine loves his job, loves helping people – and that's a realization that sets off alarms in a rusty heart not used to thumping in adoration.

Blaine loves helping people. Kurt is in desperate need of help, and he thinks he's getting better that he even recognizes and accepts that truth, but Blaine can't be a solution to Kurt's problems. He'll never be the stitching that holds Kurt together. At most, he can offer hope, supply Kurt with reasons to pick up needle and thread and repair his own seams. Kurt's independent – not always dreadfully good at it, but he hates to be reliant on others. If love were the sole solution, Kurt would have spared his father the heartbreak of watching helplessly as his son fell apart.

Wanting Blaine and letting Blaine want him opens Kurt's eyes to the barriers he holds up between himself and those closest to him. It gives him pause to question long and hard if this is the life he _needs_ anymore.

:: ::

Blaine cancels on their weekly date-but-not-date the week of Christmas; he has to pack for an early-morning flight the next day and he hasn't even started yet. Apparently, Blaine's extended family is large and wealthy, so they all hop flights from wherever they are and vacation in European countries for a few weeks at the turn of each year.

Kurt smiles wryly at the casual delivery of details from Blaine, at the reminder of how far outside of Blaine's circles he stands. But Blaine is cute when he's frazzled, and he's smiling his happy, _so glad to see you, Kurt_ smile, so Kurt just accepts the arms that encircle his waist and wishes Blaine safe travels.

He watches Blaine cross the hall and disappear into his own apartment before he closes his own door. He knits, then, as furiously as one can knit without hurting oneself. He knits until he can manipulate his feelings into something more pleasant. Until he forgets the tugging hurt and remembers the hug sending shivers down his spine and the heavy warmth of Blaine's cheek pressed into his neck.

Blaine knocks on the door hours later using a "secret" pattern he came up with. It's utterly irrelevant because Kurt always knows who's knocking, but adorable all the same. Blaine leans in the doorway, holding a long, wrapped box and looking in need of a vacation. Kurt thinks of him coming back well-rested, thinks of how it could possibly be that easy. Wishes getting away had worked for him as planned.

"I brought you something," Blaine says, sleep creeping into his voice. "A present. For Christmas. I know you're not religious, but –"

"Well, you certainly don't have to be religious to like gifts," Kurt interrupts, eyeing the delicately wrapped box in Blaine's hands. He wiggles his fingers at sleepy, slow-moving Blaine, who turns it over happily. "What is it, delivery boy?" Kurt shakes the box a bit.

Blaine chuckles tiredly. "Nothing breakable, you'd better hope."

Kurt heads over to his kitchen table, leaving Blaine in the doorway, assuming he'll follow. He does, coming up behind Kurt and setting off a new round of shivers as Kurt pulls away the wrapping.

"What on earth…"

"It's a Blaine Anderson original." Blaine smiles delightedly at Kurt's untamable blush, smirking when Kurt starts laughing.

"You made me a puppet."

"Indeed."

Kurt fingers at the fabric, admiring the clean stitching and the detail. "Is this supposed to be me?"

Blaine nods.

"I – I don't..." Kurt bites his lip and ducks his head. "I absolutely was not expecting this."

"You like it though."

"I love it."

"You're always making me stuff, I thought…"

"I love it, Blaine."

There's a moment then when Blaine's eyes flick down to Kurt's lips, when Kurt thinks of relenting to the pull low in his gut. But he has a present for Blaine, too. So he postpones the urge and holds up a finger and calls, "Hold on."

Kurt comes back and tells Blaine to close his eyes, which he does instantly, a sign of trust that sets off the warm fuzzies throughout Kurt's body. Kurt leads Blaine across the loft and stops him in the middle of the room. He hasn't had time to wrap – he'd have chickened out if given time to think about it. No chance for that now. He steps behind Blaine, avoiding having to see his reaction and tells him to look.

"Holy hell," comes Blaine's whispered awe.

They've talked about Nightbird before. About Blaine's friend Sam and their mutual worship of superheroes. About the name and powers Blaine would take on if he could be a superhero himself. This painting, this gift to Blaine, is the next best thing to the costume Blaine's always begging for when he teases about slipping Kurt his measurements.

The image is simple, one of Blaine ready to fly off the canvas, knees bent and cape flowing like feathered wings behind him. It's dark all around him, but Blaine – _Nightbird_ – shines.

Blaine – three-dimensional, hard-bodied, sweet-smelling Blaine – turns to Kurt and throws them into a hug. Kurt's arms loop around Blaine's neck and hold him close.

"You're amazing, Kurt," Blaine says into Kurt's ear.

He should say something, say thank you maybe, but he can't form words this close to Blaine. He can't do much else but try to control his rapid heartbeat, the trembling when Blaine pulls back and stares questioningly into Kurt's eyes.

"You're amazing."

Kurt thanks him then, in the way he's been yearning to: with whispers from barely parted lips and kisses that follow.

It's only when Blaine is stifling yawns and Kurt's forced him back across the hall, that the euphoria starts to wear. Kurt's mind, which doubts the sincerity of anything good, reminds him that Blaine won't be back for weeks. Convinces him that when Blaine comes home he'll be rested and alert, and expect more from Kurt. Will expect happiness and kisses and Kurt to be fixed. Convinces him that maybe it will be the opposite: Blaine will want nothing. That he has gotten his fill tonight; that it's a job well done on curing Kurt's loneliness and he's not needed anymore. That he'll spend weeks surrounded by dozens of people and realize Kurt can't compare to the company he could be keeping.

Blaine leaves and Kurt stews. He sits on unpleasant thoughts he can't bat away easily without anyone around to convince him he's insane to consider them. He sits with his private heartbreak, a fault of his own consequence, and revisits his habit of holding on too tightly to the feelings that destroy him.


	5. Chapter 5

When Kurt was very young, he loved dancing. He'd loved it so much, he asked to be signed up for classes. Finding out he was the only boy enrolled left him feeling relieved in ways he couldn't explain in the moment. Then he learned that girls could be as cruel to him as the boys always were, that throwing punches isn't always physical, and his place in the world is underfoot.

Lima destroyed Kurt Hummel before he even had the chance to figure himself out.

Sometimes he thinks he'd like to dance again, but his unpracticed limbs don't know where to begin. In daydreams, his shoulders shimmy and his feet glide across the floor because the song in his head is begging for moves.

There are versions of him that survived his childhood without so many scars, but they exist only in theory. In the hopes he has for himself that he lacks the courage to pursue. Simple things like dancing alone in an empty apartment. But for twenty years, he's acquiesced to the naysayers. Undoing their damage could unravel him until the strings are all pulled and he's lying in a heap on the ground with no guarantee he can be rebuilt.

That's the fear that keeps him from calling his lifestyle rock bottom, from tearing down the wall of bricks fencing him in and laying a new foundation. He's put himself out there too much and come back twisted and deformed, and it's taken two years in solitude just to recognize all the broken bits. Kurt's in love, he's working again, he's given up extraneous distractions and honed in on creating art that matters to him, on giving little kids as many reasons as he can to not become bitter and resigned as adults. Kurt is happy like he hasn't been so fully in years, but all the leftover scars and haunting memories haven't budged from their sturdy footholds. Everything good will always be tainted by droughts of happiness he's experienced prior.

He's never found a proper way to explain that to his father, who has always looked so lost in trying to understand Kurt. Burt Hummel is a good man, patient and kind and so much stronger than Kurt can ever hope to be. He loves Kurt; he comes by every Friday to carry on a tradition they've held since Kurt's mother died, one that was only interrupted by Kurt's time in New York and the months of hell after he crawled home. Burt has dug into all the research available on agoraphobia, on anxiety, depression, panic attacks, on every sign and symptom of all adjacent disorders, but Kurt knows the locks have never fully clicked into place. Burt wears guilt like a second skin and Kurt doesn't know how to take that pain away, how to lighten his load and assure his father it's nothing he's done that's made Kurt this way.

On Christmas Eve, Burt comes over early. He's spending the weekend in Columbus, staying in a hotel to give Kurt space though Kurt promised it was fine if he didn't. Inside, he's glad for the chance to unwind with nights alone.

Kurt makes breakfast and it's a quiet morning before the Puckermans join them. Beth and Quinn help Kurt in the kitchen while Puck and Burt plant themselves in front of the television.

"Where's Blaine?" Beth asks, going to town with a potato masher. And that's how it starts. Quinn turns to Kurt, interest piqued and arms crossed, asking, _"Who_ is Blaine?"

From there, Beth takes over, spilling every secret she had no idea was secret at all.

Quinn has visited enough to occasionally overhear Blaine jamming to whatever music he needs to let out, but Kurt never tells her about him; he agrees with her when she says he sounds like a hottie, but then they move on to new topics. Puck always shows up at random, playing with his nerves by throwing off whatever daily plans Kurt makes for himself; he's heard Blaine play and they've apparently run into one another outside and in the hall, but Puck's not much for talking about boys and Kurt isn't either. They care about Kurt and that's wonderful, but Kurt detests being treated like their second child.

It was bad enough when Beth let slip Kurt's love affair with rooftops and nighttime air. It was nothing less than a fiasco when the news spread to Burt which then led to a horribly upsetting phone call, during which Kurt had to listen to hope fade fast from his father's voice as Kurt told him, "No. No, I'm not ready to leave yet. I'm just… I don't know, really, but I'm – I'm not ready, Dad. I'm sorry."

This feels so much worse. Kurt is so much farther up the hill this time that if he goes tumbling down, he's not getting back up. Standing under the weight of other's expectations is nearly impossible when sitting upright feels like an Olympic event. They can't know about Blaine. Blaine is private, his and only his because Kurt can handle getting his heart broken if no one else is around to watch it happen. Too many expectations lead to too many disappointments and Kurt would absolutely not survive the pity he'd be victim to when Blaine inevitably realizes that he can do leagues better than him.

Doing what he does best, Kurt panics. Everything he does to combat the attack only makes it worse, and he can't breathe with the sudden appearance of his father's hand on his shoulder. Shaking limbs tremble harder with every uneasy inhale. Looking up, he finds them all in the room staring at him. Broken wings flash in his mind. This is the poking and prodding Kurt fears. His heartbeat is the only thing he can focus on and it's too fast. He thinks Quinn is responsible when Burt draws away, that she's given the order to give Kurt space, and he's grateful but he can't stay here in this room with the staring and the pity and the bad thoughts crowding in from every corner of his mind. He runs.

No one comes looking right away.

By the time his father comes bearing hot chocolate, a jacket, and a sketchbook, Kurt has long recovered from everything but the sting of embarrassment.

"Thanks."

"Anytime, kiddo."

Kurt sips from the mug and watches the steam rise and swirl, then disappear. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" Burt looks at him curiously.

"For that – back there. I just, um… I got a little overwhelmed."

Burt doesn't push, though he lifts an eyebrow and smirks at "overwhelmed."

They sit in silence, winter darkening the sky though it's somewhat early in the day. Kurt wishes, not for the first time nor that last, that he could wire himself correctly, find the button to push and make it all okay just to take the stress off of his father. The man never stops worrying about Kurt and it has repercussions on him and on Kurt. On their relationship.

"Aren't you going to ask me about Blaine?"

Burt scratches at his head. "Do you _wanna_ talk about Blaine?"

Kurt flips through the sketchbook Burt tossed beside him, seeing if it's one he pulled from the coffee table. It is. And it is filled with recreations of memories, of smiles Kurt closed his eyes to remember so he could transfer them to the page and hold onto them longer. He passes the pad to his father, opened to Blaine laughing, eyes crinkled and chin in the air. Kurt can practically hear the sound as he hands it over. "That's Blaine."

Burt looks the image over. Lifting the page's corner, he asks, "May I?" Kurt nods and bites his lip. Burt's pride is evident enough in the tiniest shakes of his head, like he just can't believe his son is so talented. Four-year-old Kurt is beaming somewhere inside; Kurt knows Burt still has terrible artwork from the hands of a child hanging in his office. Work from a time when Kurt was unabashed, happy to share himself with the world and unconcerned with what that world would think of him. Even though Burt can't understand exactly how Kurt operates, he's never been anything but supportive.

"He's – Blaine, he's, um…" Kurt clears his throat. "Well, he's my neighbor, for one thing. I really, really like him, Dad. And I'm – I'm trying to believe that he, uh, that he…" _Deep breath._ "I think he really likes me too." He's shaking with the admission. "He's really sweet. You'd like him."

"He's got you to vouch for him. I like the kid already."

Kurt's lip splits from the cold and the biting. He sucks his lip into his mouth, considering what else to say, what else to reveal. "He kissed me," he finally says, not sure why, but he hasn't had anyone to tell. Hasn't had anyone to kiss in a long time.

"Sounds like you're happy."

"I am, I think."

"So what happened earlier?"

Kurt tenses. "I didn't want anyone to know."

"That you're happy?"

Kurt's kneejerk reaction is to shake his head, but then he stops to consider it. "I wasn't trying to block you out."

"Yeah, you kinda were. Which is okay. You've gotta look out for you first. Blaine makes you happy? Then that's all I need to know." He hands Kurt back his sketchbook.

"I don't, um… I don't know how long it'll last or anything, if… Well, I don't know if he wants to put up with my crazy forever, but he does make me happy."

"Kurt, you're not crazy."

Kurt scoffs. "What's normal about this?"

"Not being 'normal' doesn't make you crazy by default."

"Can we just go inside?" Kurt gathers himself and his things. He's leaving regardless.

Burt sighs. "Sure. C'mon, it's freezing out here."

The spotlight has never been kind to Kurt, so he's thankful Beth is content bearing that burden. Her mouth runs a mile a minute, and no one mentions his meltdown. Puck cast glances in his direction every so often, Quinn is careful to be overly joyful, and his father stays close by until he heads off to his hotel, but Kurt's night goes on to be otherwise uneventful.

Quietly, he considers what it would be like if Blaine hadn't gone away. If he'd asked Blaine to join them and Blaine accepted. All of his doubts about the two of them, and about himself, fade for tonight. Blaine seems the type to get on well with everyone, which is frightening in its own way because every other important person in Kurt's life is seated at his kitchen table, but now that they all know, he wants Blaine to meet them. He wants them to know Blaine and love him, and have people to talk to about Blaine.

Maybe he and Blaine won't last, won't even become something worth lasting. But he's been prepared for heartbreak his whole life, so maybe he can take it when it comes. Maybe it's worth trying. Maybe Kurt's worth loving.

A text comes in at midnight from Blaine, wishing him Merry Christmas. The phone chimes again, a second message reading, "I miss you." The messages silence every voice in his mind assuring him his newfound assuredness will be gone by morning.

Some other Kurt is jumping on his mattress, dancing around and flailing because the boy he likes is texting him at all, never mind saying "I miss you," but Kurt just buries his face in his pillow and fights back his smile. Halfway across the world, Blaine is thinking of Kurt, and Kurt has no clue how to respond. Maybe he'll call Quinn and ask in the morning. Right now, he'll let Blaine think he's sleeping so he doesn't mess it all up, so he can hold onto the bliss.


	6. Chapter 6

Kurt goes back and forth about what he'll say to Blaine once he comes home. Doubt creeps back in the longer the distance remains, but Blaine sends him pictures from his travels and silly little tales about his family and the doubt starts to give way. Blaine has made it nothing less than clear how he feels about Kurt, about his intentions. Kurt just has to trust that.

The day Blaine comes back, Kurt waits by the window for hours. He rolls over his drafting table and sets the wheels so he can pretend to be doing something else, but it's all just a waiting game.

Of course, Kurt is off making lunch when he misses hearing a car outside and Blaine's laughter. He does, however, hear familiar footsteps in the hallway and keys jingling in a lock nearby. He's here. Blaine is here. And he's not alone. There are two muffled voices in the hall, one Blaine's and one that Kurt's never heard. He peeks out and recognizes Sam from pictures. They walk into Blaine's apartment and the door closes.

Kurt had been hoping Blaine would come over to see him, just to say hi even if he was jetlagged. He even considered going over to Blaine's if Blaine didn't come over first. It would be a gesture, something so say _I'm getting better_ before explaining all the things that are wrong. All the things Blaine needs to know if they're moving in the direction Kurt assumes.

Without much forethought, his hand is on the door, fingers tapping the metal then pulling the door open. Heart in his throat, he crosses the short distance to Blaine's apartment. It occurs to him while knocking that it may not be Blaine who answers, but it's too late to run or worry.

Blaine doesn't answer. Sam does. He blinks at Kurt, then his eyes go wide and he asks, "Oh my god, dude, are you Kurt?" Sam doesn't seem to care if the answer is yes as he pulls Kurt into a tight hug anyway. Kurt looks up, a little panicked but mostly amused, and there's Blaine.

Blaine tugs Sam back, chuckling as he says, "Down boy." Then he throws himself around Kurt. He does so with much less exuberance than Sam, but Blaine holds Kurt closer and buries his face in Kurt's neck. "You're here," Blaine whispers, squeezing tighter.

Blaine invites Kurt in and kicks Sam out. Sam pouts, but he makes a swift exit. Then he and Blaine are alone.

"Would you rather go over to your place?"

Kurt's standing awkwardly by the door, and he _would_ rather be home, but he just really wants to be near Blaine. "Uh, no. That's okay." He forces himself further inside. Blaine gestures for him to sit down in an armchair just like Kurt imagined he would have. Kurt sits, and Blaine drags over a stool and sits in front of him, taking Kurt's hand and tangling their fingers together.

"I'm so proud of you."

Kurt sucks in a breath and nods his thanks. His smile is shaky and tears come quietly, but he's proud of himself too. Blaine lifts himself and plants a sweet kiss to Kurt's forehead, then settles back onto his stool and waits for the words Kurt is struggling to say.

It all comes out in a series of stutters. Everything from childhood bullies to his mother's death to the insecurities that have riddled him his entire adult life. Kurt talks about the person he wants to be, about his current lifestyle and his hopes of its impermanence, about the underwhelming journey that led him into hiding.

In college, Puck and Kurt started releasing their work online. As Puck practiced more and took classes, his writing became better. As Kurt immersed himself in the art school experience, his technique and creativity improved as well. By some sort of freak accident, over the years their work got attention and it led to book deals and success and enough money to move to New York.

New York had always been a dream, just something magical and far away from home. When he was riding the high of doing so well, he thought he could hold onto that feeling and take ahold of that dream. Then he got to New York, where he knew nothing and no one. Where it's busy and crowded and terrifying. For a while, it was okay. It was exciting to finally test his independence.

In high school, Burt had a heart attack. The worrying drove Kurt mad as he sat vigil by his comatose father's bedside. He didn't tell anyone what had happened. There was no one to tell. Then he found Quinn on his doorstep one night when he came home to his empty house. She had Beth resting on her hip as she tore into him for disappearing, going on about how nervous she was that something had happened to him. So he told her about his father, watched the anger turn to concern before she held him, one arm around his back, the other clinging to Beth. He knew suddenly in that moment that he wasn't alone like he'd thought. Though it unsettled him to know Quinn was worried, it amazed him to consider he mattered.

When he was planning his move to New York, he hadn't considered how lonely being alone would be. He hadn't realized how much he had come to depend on that support and those friendships. Self-determined worthlessness ate him up inside. One day he didn't feel like leaving, so he stayed home. The next day was more of the same. And the day after that. And the one following. Trauma come quietly and all-consuming. It continued until he was ordering his groceries online and completely cut off from all other contact. His father would call, but Kurt wouldn't answer. Then it was Quinn. Then one day his father and Puck were banging on his door, and he had nothing to say as they eventually helped him pack up his things and head back to Lima.

Frustration, anger, and sadness were fighting vicious battles to control his temperament. He didn't want any of those feelings to win but he didn't have it in him to pull himself out of the hole he'd dug into. He'd felt trapped in his father's house. He wasn't a child anymore. It should have been easy to be away, to prove he was a grownup. But he failed and that destroyed him.

When he could finally drum up the energy, he told his father he wanted to leave. This time he wouldn't go as far, just to Columbus where he could be near Quinn, Puck, and Beth, but also Burt.

At first, that was sort of okay too. Kurt started therapy willingly. He left the house regularly. He worked occasionally. Then the cycle started again, stronger this time for the added frustration of having lived it before. He was moodier and angrier, but he had his family close by and it made life livable and pulled him out of the darkness as much as possible.

Blaine listens carefully, doesn't interrupt as Kurt brings him up to date.

"There's, um… there's not really a reason, you know… I'm just kind of, um… pathetic? I just… um, it was a lot. And I didn't – I don't know. Nothing even happened. I think I made it all up in my head. But… it – I – I'm not sure when – if – I'm not sure if I'll, um, not be like this anymore anytime soon, but, um, this is me. I can't – I'm not really sure why like me, but now's the time to run – Or maybe I should go. I mean, this is your apar –"

Kurt moves to stand and Blaine rises with him. "Don't go. Please."

"Okay," Kurt whispers, letting himself be held as he breathing evens out. "Okay."

"It kills me that you don't think you're strong."

It takes every effort to unravel themselves from one another, but even as Kurt tiptoes off to his apartment later that night, he knows something has changed. That he and Blaine are tied to one another now. He realizes that he can trust himself and trust Blaine – that he won't be stuck forever.

As the days and weeks pass, Kurt sees fantasies come to life. Buried wishes and forgotten hopes come to light as Blaine brings his energy and charm to inspire Kurt. Blaine is respectful and sweet, coming over in almost all of his spare time, always texting first to make sure it's okay. He's incredibly overdressed when he shows up to dinner one Friday night to meet Burt for the first time, nervous like Kurt has never seen him be. It finally hits Kurt one weekend, when Blaine sit cross-legged on his couch and rehearsing his set for a show downtown while Kurt attaches a cape to a little girl's costume, that this is what he'd been daydreaming about for months. Making art in the company of Blaine making music.

It's more than contentment that sends the shiver along his skin and puts a smile on his face. His life still isn't everything he'd wanted, but suddenly there cracks in his walls are big enough to walk through, and he thinks maybe he'll be ready soon to see what's on the other side.


	7. Chapter 7

Some new feeling has made its home in Kurt's bones. Something good, he thinks.

Quinn dips her spoon into a giant bowl full of a strange ice cream-based concoction her pregnancy cravings created. Kurt can feel her eyes on him, feels her quietly discerning gaze that tends to raise the hackles on his neck. Not today, though. Today as they sit on the roof to kiss the cool nip of winter farewell, Kurt only smiles in response.

She laughs brightly, suddenly, and Kurt delights in the sound that comes with no explanation.

"What was that?" he asks, curious and charmed, when her chuckles subside.

Quinn doesn't reply, gives her attention to the sky like it's sharing something important, something private, solemn. She smiles, puts a hand on the growing bump signifying new life.

Kurt likes that idea: that life can be new.

There are no more corners to fill in his apartment, no more art to make that won't intrude upon his other work. His canvas is filled, this piece is complete, and Kurt thinks that might be a sign.

Quinn stares at him again, smile wide, but eyes just as probing as always.

"I love you, Kurt."

That's it, and she's looking away, scraping her spoon for crumbs in an empty bowl. The words come out casually in the way of an offhand remark, but it echoes through his being like an epiphany at the end of a long quest. It's not a shock to know he's loved by Quinn – he loves her too, after all – but it's overwhelming somehow to have it stated so plainly, to be handed a present that can't be returned or exchanged or re-gifted, that isn't a trivial prize in a carnival game but the time-earned rewards for sharing himself with her.

Quinn carries on, sharing her secret smiles with the sky, oblivious to Kurt's overactive mind seeking out a reason, a cause that would prompt her to affirm her love. Maybe there is no higher reason than that it is true, that it occurred to her in the moment, and worked its way to her tongue and out into the air simply as an observation. For once, he stops questioning why someone could love him.

It's a faraway thought to act first and consider the consequences only as they come, or to consider the consequences and act anyway. For Quinn, it's as basic as breathing. She told Kurt she loves him, and then turned away; she'll never need him to say it back because her affections don't hinder on being requited. Not anymore. Quinn is strong, forged by the fire of a hostile youth and unbreakable now that she owns every piece of herself. She's more Kieron than Kurt ever was, he realizes.

"You're frightening."

She laughs, an unexpected snort weaving its way through her giggles and making her laugh harder. This is Quinn, the same woman who strikes fear into the hearts of men who'll never catcall again once they've catcalled her. Who is a pillar in her parish, always courteous and kind, remorseful of a past in which she cared only for herself. Who also sits on Kurt's couch, venting about how awful Puck's mother can be. She's Quinn who is forceful and demanding, but always weighs her desires against her compassion. Quinn, who rips apart the seams when others attempt to sew labels onto her. She's unabashedly flawed and twists her flaws to her advantage, and that kind of poise makes Kurt scared and jealous and utterly awed.

Quinn is a friend. She's an equal in all the places it matters, someone who cares for him as he does for her, a reliable source of comfort, and who knows Kurt as well as he can be known and has the favor returned. Still there's a second version of her, a falser image, not a whole picture, that he's placed on a pedestal.

Quinn can be fiercely intimidating even when she's not trying. Kurt, who's always experienced a part of himself cowering in her presence, thinks the new feeling settling bone-deep might be courage.

"Blaine has a show tonight, you know?"

The spoon clanks against the bowl as Quinn sets them both aside. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

Kurt shrugs, a spark of terror running through him stomped out by the thought of seeing Blaine's reaction. "Yeah." He bites his lip and smiles. "Will you come with me?"

She looks at him like a mother would, like his father always does when he sees Kurt's art. Proud. Quinn nods simply, looking like she wants to throw a party to celebrate this moment and holding back so as not to scare Kurt into changing his mind. She gives Kurt one long glance before turning back to the sky. "Yes, of course. Anything you want."

:: ::

Kurt spends most of his time alone, interrupted on occasion by time with his father, his two best friends, his niece, and his boyfriend. He has customers to cater to even if he doesn't interact with them face-to-face. He's friendly with his delivery people for groceries, mail, and takeout. So he's not totally cut off from society, but he's forgotten how loud people can be. Maybe a bar wasn't the best choice of location for his reintroduction to the world.

It's crowded and a little smelly, honestly. He's been used to one place and one smell for so long and these scents are overwhelming enough on their own. If that's his biggest problem tonight, then he'll be good. He can do this. He hopes.

Quinn's hand hooks on his elbow, holding him upright with moral support.

"Should I have told him I was coming?" Kurt asks.

She pats his arm with her free hand. "Buck up, Kurt. You've got this."

"If you say so." He's not totally convinced.

"I do." She pulls him along to find a seat. "Blaine will freak and you'll start blushing, and I'll tease you both, but you will be fine, Kurt Hummel. I promise."

Perfectly postured Quinn makes his fidgeting feel more obvious. His fingers tap along the tabletop. Quinn pinches his thigh, quietly commanding him to "quit it." His nerves don't obey, so he sits on his hands to hold them steady.

It's odd to be in public, to be surrounded by strangers and not feel his skin crawling. He'd thought at any point he'd have to tell Quinn the plan was off. That they should turn around, head home, and never speak of it. He thought each step away from the locked door he's used for protection would feel like one step closer toward the edge and that he'd be falling without a safety net. Now, he's racing toward that edge, desperate to fall and find his wings before he hits the ground.

Laughter ringing out from a group nearby pulls Kurt's attention away. For a second, he thinks he'll see Blaine in that crowd, but there are no familiar faces. Kurt doesn't have many familiar faces in his life to recall, but he plucks up all the courage he can scrounge and casts a wider look around the room. This would be the time he'd start taking shallower breaths, feel his throat closing up, draw in his shoulders, and try to make himself as small and unnoticeable as possible. Instead, he squeezes Quinn's hand, takes a few deep breaths, and pushes forward.

Kurt hears Sam's voice first, loud and excited greeting his friends. Then he hears Blaine's name and when he looks up he sees Blaine's back as he's pulled into a hug by Tina, Kurt thinks. He's only seen her in pictures. Suddenly, Kurt's nervous. Blaine and his friends are mere feet away from where Quinn and Kurt are seated and this is kind of a big deal. Blaine's friends are here, which means Kurt will have to meet them. And he knows Blaine talks about him, but he doesn't really know what gets said. It's a little overwhelming to have this major moment for himself, but also to be here for Blaine. And… _what if they don't like me? _This had the potential to be a mostly private moment that only mattered to him and Blaine. But now there's all these people he hadn't considered factoring into the equation. And-

_"Ow!" _Kurt rubs at his likely bruised thigh and glares at Quinn. She just laughs, looking proud of herself. When he looks up again, Blaine is looking back at him. Kurt works his bottom lip between his teeth and fights back a smile. "Surprise," he mouths.

Blaine beams like the sun itself has overtaken his body. At Kurt's side in an instant, he leans down to hug him before Kurt can even stand to meet him halfway.

When Blaine takes his hand and calls his friends over to make introductions, Kurt can feel his nerves settle. His cravings for more than the life he's been living have left him feeling so hollow for so long. Finally, the hunger is sated. The climb ahead is no longer as steep. The world is big and daunting, and his existence is dwarfed in the grand scheme of the universe, but Kurt matters. He matters to the man holding his hand and the woman living up to her promise of teasing. He matters to the man who raised him and the little girl growing up before his eyes. He matters to a man who trusts him to help tell his stories

In a way that makes him want to cry for only just now having the realization, Kurt matters because he loves himself. That's not so scary at all.


End file.
